


Anyone Know This John Doe?

by JackalopingIntoTheVoid



Series: Anyone Know This John Doe? [1]
Category: Halo (Video Games) & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Fish out of Water, Found Family, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Touch-Starved, Welcome to my AU where Hunt the Truth is canon and Halo 5 doesn't matter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-22 03:55:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17052638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackalopingIntoTheVoid/pseuds/JackalopingIntoTheVoid
Summary: John struggled for a moment, then shook his head. Not even a last name. There was just– nothing. He had to fight to keep his voice even. “… I don’t remember that either. Or anything else.”Humanity's fallen hero has disappeared in the wake of the events of the Biko peace talks... and a lost stranger has arrived on Gannick 22.





	1. A Close Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much an exploration of the Master Chief as a person, but it's mostly going to be fluffy as heck, at least early on. It's also my first foray into writing in some years, so please be patient but hopefully you guys enjoy it!

She’d only just stepped out the door, and she was already starting to think Changming was right about staying inside. It was practically a blizzard out there. But she didn’t usually back down to her younger sibling and Mochou wasn’t about to start today. She was going to check the noise in the garage no matter how awful the weather was.

Call her paranoid, but when a person has had to evacuate their home with their only surviving family member because of an alien-orchestrated genocide rendering their planet uninhabitable at best, a little paranoia was understandable.

Mochou had to go down the alley to the left of their building to access their garage, a short and familiar route that had never posed any real threat to either of the Guan siblings before. They’d saved up enough over the years, pooled with their close friends, and all moved together into one of the nicer parts of the city. It was well-lit, near the market, and despite the large population the people of Nevis never let a witnessed crime go unreported. She hadn’t seen much of the rest of Gannick 22, but she was happy with their city.

Which was why it was such a shock to see dents at the bottom edge of the garage door. Large dents that looked eerily like they were made by large hands, attached to arms strong enough to open the automated door by force.

There were too many visible, smooth finger shapes to be the hands of any of the known Covenant species, but Mochou wasn’t thinking about that. Mochou was too busy being terrified of whatever the hell had broken into the garage.

Backing away, stumbling in her snow boots, Mochou struggled to pull out her COM pad and frantically called Alouette, praying that if she couldn’t get the words out in fluent English, the ex-ODST would understand anyway.

Fortunately, the Frenchwoman answered quickly, if grumpily. “Quoi? You are interrupting our anniversary!” Her scowl fell away, however, when she saw the look of terror on her friend’s face. “What is wrong?”

“Garage.” Mochou hissed, “Something is inside, something big! Something forced the door!”

“I am there.”

Alouette Elodiesdottir moved incredibly swiftly for such a stout, muscular person, and she was indeed by Mochou’s side very soon (it was still strange to think they were the same height and similar in width). Pistol in hand– Mochou wasn’t a gun person, didn’t know the make– she advanced carefully, and the Chinese woman could only watch in terror and think with detached horror that it would be her fault if Sampoorna was left a widow.

Reaching out, Alouette quickly pushed the button to open the garage door, and as soon as she was able ducked under it to scope out the inside with the barrel of her gun. The light within was already on due to the system detecting a life sign already present…

After a lingering moment in which Mochou couldn’t breathe, she heard Alouette’s voice again.

“Who are you!?”

Human. Her French friend wouldn’t be stopping to chat with an alien, especially not one guilty of breaking and entering.

“Hé! Are you listening? I ask who you are! … Do you hear me? Do you see me?”

Curiosity taking hold, Mochou crept to the open door to peer past the veteran’s bulk. Alouette risked a concerned glance at her. The plump woman immediately saw why.

Half curled and violently shivering in the back corner was a large, masculine-seeming person. Covered neck to toes by a black bodysuit of some kind, the skin of his(?) face was deathly pale and  _covered_  in scars, with very short dark brown hair on his head, a couple centimetres at most. But most striking were his  _eyes_. They were large, a piercing blue. And they were filled with fear. His gaze flicked briefly to Mochou , but otherwise remained focused on Alouette’s gun– which, honestly, that was fair.

Emboldened by the pitiable state of their uninvited guest (and somewhat worried; he looked absolutely freezing), Mochou gestured for the stronger woman to lower her weapon. Uncertain but trusting, Alouette did so.

“Hello?” She hoped he spoke English. Well, it would be nice to speak her own language, but it would make it difficult to keep her protective friend in the loop, and there were so,  _so_  many more languages than those two. “I am Guan Mochou. This is my friend, Alouette Elodiesdottir. She was an ODST in the war, and can be, nèi ge, scary. But, we– we just, en, want to know, nèi ge… ” Gods, she needed to stop stumbling over herself! “En, why are you in our garage?”

* * *

He thought he’d been quiet. He thought he’d gone unseen. But exhaustion, hunger, cold and sickness had sapped his strength and made him clumsy. He didn’t take his eyes off the gun or its owner for more than an instant until it was lowered (getting shot on top of everything else would really scupper any escape attempt) but it was so hard to focus. He felt drowsy, dizzy. His clogged sinuses restricted his air intake and he wanted to cough. His quaking muscles were stiff and sluggish.

The M6E sidearm was no longer aimed at him, but another person had arrived. At first he thought they were of similar build, but the second person– longer dark hair, pulled back, some kind of dangling accessory through the bun– was wearing a thick winter coat. It looked warm.

Their voice was soft, strongly accented but differently to the armed one. Chinese? Probably. Hesitant, uncertain, undisciplined. Civilian. De-escalating. De-escalating was good. He was so tired.

A question, he’d been asked a question–  **why**. Why was  _I think I’m entering the early stages of hypothermia_. He tried to say just that, but just as he took a breath to form the words the coughing burst out of him and stole his air, made his chest hurt more, made his muscles spasm and it seemed to drain the last of his energy. He badly wanted to lie down and sleep, but that would be a death sentence.  _(He’d just needed to come out of the snow.)_

Movement– in front of him, closer to him. He jerked back, tried to leap to his feet, but his failing body fought him and he staggered. There was a terrible clattering noise as he grabbed a nearby shelf, toppling several tools to the floor in his attempt to steady himself. As he struggled to catch his breath between the panic and the coughing, still shivering, he could see the M6E being lowered again in his peripheral vision. After another couple of seconds, he was able to focus on what turned out to be the warm winter coat being held out towards him. 

“I’m sorry,” the soft voice was saying, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just, en– you must be so cold!”

They’d taken off their coat, to give to him. If he took it now, it would still be warm…

The need for warmth was stronger than the fear of a trap. It was much too small for him, but he pressed its inner lining firmly to his torso to try and warm his core with the residual body heat. The tech suit prevented immediate effect, but he clutched the cloth to himself all the same. His legs threatened to buckle and he gave in before he could fall, leaning against the wall and sinking back to the floor, pulling himself into a semi-foetal position.

There was movement to his left, and he heard more than saw the door close. He should have been concerned that an exit had been blocked off, but he was just relieved that the icy wind was no longer blowing in.

“N-nèi ge, nèi ge nèi ge, I think you’re sick!” Blurted, nervous. His vision was blurred and kept shifting in and out of focus. “I-I’m, en, I am going to nèi ge, come close again! Okay? To feel your en, your temperature?”

Gloves pulled off of hands. Hands reaching forward, slowly. The soft voice suddenly resolute. “I will not hurt you.” Such tiny, soft-looking hands. He grasped the coat tighter, wide-eyed and tense, unable to control his shivering even so. He struggled to swallow another harsh cough. “It’s okay. You’re going to be alright. I will not hurt you.” Hands filling his vision, so close to his face. He wanted to kick out, to throw them aside, to defend himself. But this was a very small, round civilian and he didn’t want to  _hurt_  them (wasn’t sure he could).

Fingertips grazing his skin, making him flinch, a palm settling gently on his forehead, another on his cheek,  _touching_  him.

They were exactly as soft as they looked, and  _so warm_. He couldn’t help himself; he leaned into the touch. He hadn’t expected it to feel so good.

“Ó, kělián de dōngxī… ”

The small, soft, warm civilian was still talking, but he didn’t have the wherewithal process their speech. The warmth of the coat was starting to have an effect and he sighed in relief as it took the edge off the cold, body aching to relax but unable to stop shaking or hold back the weak coughs. He opened his eyes briefly (when had he closed them?), but it was a monumental effort and his vision was starting to darken at the edges. The soft person’s soft voice filled the air again, and the armed threat he’d honestly forgotten about responded. He wasn’t listening. He just couldn’t stay awake anymore. Small warm hands, soft skin, cupping both his cheeks this time. Thumbs gently rubbing his cheekbones. It felt good.

Unconsciousness rose to swallow him and he sank into it gratefully.

 


	2. Disruption

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alouette worries, and the stranger awakes.

_He dreamed of a grassy plain. A bright, sunny day. He was warm. He never looked behind him, but he knew there was a lake there. Likewise, he couldn’t see past the hill in front of him, but he knew there lay a shining city._

_There was a woman in front of him in breezy summer clothing, her skin dark and her hair darker. She called his name and he ran, his little legs pushing him as fast as he could go, straight into her waiting arms. She embraced him, easily encompassing his small body in her softness. She kind of smelled like soap._

_She said something kind to him, and he smiled and said something kind back. Wriggling in the hug, he looked up at her face, meeting her large, dark eyes. Her nose was straight, no bumps or ridges or evidence of past breaks, and her thick, full lips were arranged into a loving smile._

_He smiled back, happy and carefree, and rested his head on her shoulder. He was content to stay right here, loved and safe._

* * *

Alouette was not happy. She’d been pleased at first, glad that Mochou had reigned in her natural curiosity and  _called her_  to deal with a potential threat.

… A potential threat that was human, yes, and had been in danger of hypothermia, but they could’ve dropped him off at a hospital and left it at that. But  _nooo_ , they had to wrestle this guy indoors and strip off his tight bodysuit and kick her and Sampoorna out of their room because their shared bed was the only one big enough to put him in. The stranger was absolutely  _massive_.

Not to mention disturbing everyone else. Fiona was as suspicious as Alouette, thankfully, but she wasn’t being as vocal about it. She’d heard a mix of English, Arabic and German coming from her room earlier, so it sounded like she’d told her parents about it. Davis was mostly worried, sweet man that he was, and Changming, much like his sister, was mostly incorrigibly curious.

(Alouette thanked her lucky stars Riley got laid last night. They’d be insisting on turning the whole incident into a video for the group’s channel if they were here, and Alouette was not prepared to deal with that level of flippancy just yet.)

Speaking of Alouette’s beautiful wife, Sampoorna had taken one look at this man and immediately her compassion was overflowing. She’d quickly activated Tenzin and the Dumb AI had assessed the huge man’s condition and provided advice. Not only was he dangerously cold, he’d also  _caught_  a cold– he was lucky that was all– and had neither slept nor eaten in a couple days at least. Changming had immediately set to brewing sweetened white tea for him, while Sampoorna worked on a pot of that Jewish Penicillin her fathers used to make her when she was small.

Placing her hands on her wife’s curved hips, Alouette almost chuckled. She was glad Sampo had the body she’d always wanted, and she was certainly beautiful like this, but sometimes the veteran missed being able to wrap both of her large hands around her wife’s once-slight hips so her fingers touched. She'd knew it was silly, but she'd always felt proud whenever she did it- she didn't know anyone else with hands big enough to hold their girlfriend's whole pelvis! Today being their anniversary had only highlighted everything that had changed over the years, leaving her nostalgic for the time when they’d been dating.

The longing didn’t linger. Nothing compared to Sampo finally feeling as beautiful as she was.

Suddenly swivelling in her wife’s grip, the taller woman’s regal features peered down at Alouette. “I know why you fret, hasiinaa. He is a stranger most imposing. But we must not let our hardships make us unkind.”

“What reason do we have to trust he will not harm us? We have all lost much, Sampo, and have still more to lose.”

It shook her to the core, sometimes, just how much they’d managed to claim back from the devastation of their lives. How these broken people had reached out to each other and made a family with their pieces. She would never take for granted what they had built here– and she would fight to the death for it.

Sampoorna bent at the waist, graceful as a dancer, and kissed Alouette’s violet hair.

“I know,” she whispered, and she meant it, “but he is here now, and he needs our help. We will be kind to him as we have been to each other, and perhaps,” another kiss, to her forehead this time, “appearances will be proven deceptive.”

It was truly incredible, Alouette thought, that her beloved could speak such poetic English with such multitudinous depths, to both chasten and woo her so thoroughly, yet regularly mixed up ‘left’ and ‘right’ and could never remember the word for ‘fruit’.

“Main tumase pyaar karata hoon.” She knew her pronunciation was terrible but–

“Je t’aime.” Sampoorna’s was terrible too.

* * *

Warmth. That was the first thing he became aware of as he drifted awake. It was a sweet, slow ascent to consciousness, comfortable and weightless. He was wrapped in softness, and he burrowed in further, relishing in it.

The next thing he noticed was that he was naked. It didn’t bother him. He was warm and everything against his skin was soft. It felt so good just to be lying down, and if not for the pain of hunger and the congestion in his chest and head this would be  _bliss_.

Opening his eyes, he assessed the room. Immediately, a headache throbbed behind his eyes. He ignored it. What he saw was… unfamiliar. It seemed to be some kind of personalised quarters, but it was filled with so much extraneous…  _stuff_. He couldn’t begin to name at least half of it. Who needed all of this?

… How did he get here?

Despite the weakness in his limbs, he managed to push himself into a sitting position (his heavy head had  _not_  wanted to leave the overstuffed pillow) and try to get his bearings as the dizziness waned.

He needed to find a way out of here. He had to  _go_. He didn’t know why or to where, there was just an urgency. He tried to remember where he’d been trying to go before he passed out (earlier, yesterday, he didn’t even know how long he’d been down for) but he only remembered being just as confused outside. Trying and failing to find food and shelter, his head full of survival tactics meant for the wilderness that did him no good in an urban environment.

He didn’t remember how he’d gotten onto the streets. He didn’t remember where he’d been before those few days, or what he’d been doing a week ago. Or a month ago. Or a year.  The war had ended some months ago– no, five years ago. He was sure of that. What had he been doing after the war? What had he done during the war? He didn’t remember. Why didn’t he remember? What happened to him? He could feel his breathing quickening along with his heart rate, but it was a detached awareness through the actual panic causing it.

The door opened, and someone poked their head through.

Dark hair, pulled back into a bun with a dangling accessory. Glasses shielding dark eyes. The winter coat was gone, replaced with a thick shirt and pants that looked soft. His breathing started to even out. He remembered this civilian.

“You’re up!” Their voice was brighter than it had been, but they weren’t excessively loud. They smiled cheerfully and came fully into the room, revealing a steaming mug in their (soft) hand. His gaze lingered on it, acutely aware of his thirst, but he pulled his focus back to the civilian.

They’d been helpful before. Maybe they could help him now.

* * *

She’d been pleased to see him conscious, but now Mochou was a little worried. He’d looked a bit wild-eyed when she came in– though he  _had_ woken up naked in a strange room so maybe that was to be expected– but now those piercing eyes were staring very intently at her. Gods, didn’t it hurt to sit so rigidly, especially ill as he was?

“How are you feeling? Ó, en, do you remember me? From this morning?” She dared to take a few steps closer to the bed, and those unnerving eyes followed her. It was his pupils, she realised. They were smaller than they should be in the low light. Was he panicking but hiding it? The much smaller woman immediately stopped in her tracks.

“Nèi ge, you broke into our garage this morning. To, en, to get out of the snow.” Nothing. He just kept staring. Wait,  _did_  he understand English? Had that ever become clear? Perhaps he was entirely deaf, or so frightened he didn’t care what she was saying. Biting her lip, she tried one last time. “My name is– ”

“Guan Mochou.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, shocked both by the suddenness of speech after such tense silence, and by that  ** _voice_**. She’d never heard anything like it before. Hell, she was pretty sure she’d  _felt_  it rumbling in her abdomen.

Her train of thought completely derailed, she stammered, flustered, before awkwardly falling silent.

* * *

One spontaneous recollection and he’d already managed to make this awkward. Talking wasn’t exactly his greatest skill, and he found himself lacking words to follow up with. The silence stretched on for almost a minute– until his self-control failed and the growing pressure in his chest and throat made him splutter into a painful coughing fit.

“Ó!” Mochou suddenly surged forward, arms thrust out in front of them, offering the mug. It nearly made him jump. “Changming made you tea! That’s– Changming is my little brother. Or, en, he’s not that little really. Please don’t tell him I said that or he’ll start making jokes again.”

After hovering for a moment, they suddenly turned and put the mug on the tiny table next to the bed. Mochou was full of nervous energy, backing away a little and fidgeting on the spot. Another abrupt motion– were all civilians this erratic?– and they were talking again.

“Ha, I can almost hear him! ‘Hello there, I’m Changming, have you met my big sister? She’s hard to miss at 50 feet!’”

She was bubbling with nervous laughter that faded into quiet at his lack of response. He didn’t get the joke. He understood the wordplay, he just didn’t see how it was funny.

He looked to the mug again, and picked it up off the table. Remembering at the last second to give a belated “Thank you,” he took a much needed drink and was surprised by how it tasted. It was warm, mild and sweet, milky yet fragrant. He thought tea was supposed to be bitter. (When did he drink bitter tea, and why couldn’t he recall?) A soft sigh left him as it warmed its way down to his empty stomach, and he gratefully drained the rest of the cup.

 _Oh_ , that was good. He realised his eyes were closed and opened them again, only to find his perspective of the room had shifted. It took him a second to realise he’d leaned back against the headboard.

“No, don’t– ” the civilian interrupted as he moved to sit up again, “just relax, okay? You’re not well.” Her hand reached out to rest on his bare skin, and he allowed it. He shouldn’t have, but he did. He vividly remembered how good her hands had felt on his face, and it felt just as good where it was.

She squeezed his shoulder (that shouldn’t have been such a rush) and started gently rubbing her thumb back and forth. His heavy eyelids slipped closed again.

“It’s okay. We’re gonna help you get better. The whole family. Sampoorna’s making her chicken soup for you, and she says hers is the best because she makes it with love. You’re very lucky!”

Another squeeze. “Nèi ge, what’s your name?”

That caught him off guard. He stiffened under Mochou’s hand, though she didn’t pull away. His name… ? Did he have even that?

_A woman standing on a grassy plain, calling out to him…_

“John.” His voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “My name is John.”


	3. Rest Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John gets a hot meal and a little TLC.

Sampoorna had been alerted by Tenzin that their guest was awake and, despite Alouette’s fretting, had poured out a nice, big bowl of soup and put together a few sandwiches (he was a big, big man, he’d need a lot to eat!) and headed over. The door was open, and the stranger’s eyes snapped to her form as he jerked up from where he’d been propped against the pillows.

“No, no, it’s okay!” Mochou’s voice was gentle but she looked exasperated, and Sampo realised she’d probably been trying to get the poor man to relax for the past twenty minutes. “John, this is Sampoorna, like I told you? She’s got soup– ooh, and sandwiches!”

Indeed, John’s eyes had fixed on the food almost immediately before going back to her face. She smiled her most reassuring smile.

“Hello, John. It is nice to meet you. I hope you are feeling better now you are warm and have slept. I have made much soup, so eat as much as you like, and there is medicine for your cold.” Sampo approached, and he watched her but didn’t respond. Slowly, so he could protest if he so desired, she placed the tray in his lap before activating the antigrav and stabilisers.

(She’d learned recently that when trays were first invented hundreds of years ago, people just put them on their laps and kept them balanced by themselves. It seemed a logical progression of development, but it still sent her reeling to think about how difficult and dangerous things were back then. A conscious balancing act would always be subject to human error; one wrong move and you’d covered yourself in hot food or drink. Not safe at all!)

“Now,” she carefully took his hand, slowly moving to take his pulse, “how are you feeling? Blocked sinuses?” His sinuses certainly sounded blocked, but his pulse was strong and steady. He winced slightly as she tested the lymph glands in his neck– swollen, as expected– and she grimaced apologetically. Alouette didn’t like hands at her neck either. “Do you have a headache at all?”

John seemed conflicted. He’d been calm so far, but he noticeably hesitated at her questions. That hesitation was telling; he didn’t feign indifference or puff up in pride. He seemed nervous, almost shy, like he didn’t want to be a bother or feared getting in trouble. Taking a calculated risk, Sampoorna took his hand loosely in hers, gently rubbing her thumb over the odd surgical scars on the back. “We just want to help you. You do not need to suffer.”

There was movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned to see Mochou sweetly squeezing his other hand, smiling that earnest smile of hers. John had looked to her as well, and when he turned back to the Indian woman his eyes were wide and overwhelmed.

The poor thing. She dreaded to think what he had been running from.

* * *

He didn’t know why this was affecting him so drastically. Sampoorna’s cursory medical checks had been unexpected, but he was familiar with them even if he had no memory of it. It was the  _gentleness_  of it that struck him dumb, the soft concern rather than the brusque and businesslike bedside manner of… whoever had given him medical checks before, he supposed. It was even more difficult, somehow, to face this nebulous knowledge lacking in anything resembling useful context when these two civilians– these two people were being so– so  _kind_  to him.

_You do not need to suffer._

That sentence had landed like a gut punch and John had to bite back the reflex to dispute it. Yes, he had a pounding headache, and what felt like every muscle in his body ached as well, but that was fine. None of his limbs were hanging off, his organs were all still inside him; he could endure this pain. And after a second, that confused him too. Why would he think he  _did_  need to suffer? Where did that immediate, thoughtless rejection come from? Why did hearing it make his insides squirm uncomfortably?

On the subject of his insides, he was starving, and there was food literally right under his nose, but both of his hands were being held. He could pull away effortlessly, but their skin on his was an incredible sensation. Since waking up here John had found that every time the gentle touches ceased, it left a greed in his skin that clamoured impatiently for the contact to return. It was a selfish feeling and he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t deny that their hands seemed to (mercifully) quiet his thoughts and soothe something in his chest.

On his left, Mochou’s hand moved to his upper arm, squeezing his bicep (oh, that was nice) and he took the opportunity to start in on the soup.

“John?” Mochou again. She waited until he glanced at her in question. “Do you need painkillers?”

That sealed it. John shook his head; he didn’t  _need_  them.

“Just the cold medicine then.” Sampoorna was already preparing it for him. Most of him felt certain he didn’t have a choice in the matter and was resigned to that fact, but a small, niggling part of him said  _if you tell her no, she’ll stop_. That was a thought both frightening and comforting. John elected not to think about it.

He swallowed the drugs without comment and kept eating. It was good, really good, and again he was struck with the strange sense that he shouldn’t be having it. This was  _too much_ , it tasted  _too good_. He was hungry enough that he didn’t debate it much but it left him unsettled all the same.

He finished off the soup quickly (it would be selfish to ask for more) and started ploughing through the sandwiches. He honestly had no idea what was in them, but he liked it.

He’d just about demolished those when Sampoorna spoke again, having finished whatever silent conversation the pair had been having with their eyes.

“Now, John, I know this may be a difficult question for you right now, but… can you tell us how you ended up on the street?”

His chewing slowed. It was fair of her to– correctly– assume that it was a recent development, as evidenced by her not asking when, since he’d been clearly ill-equipped. But he loathed the question all the same, simply because he’d have to admit that he couldn’t answer it. Even after he swallowed his mouthful, he didn’t answer immediately. Mochou squeezed his arm again (he didn’t notice himself listing slightly towards her) and made further meaningful eye-contact with Sampoorna.

Eventually, he composed himself. “I don’t know. I don’t… remember.”

“You don’t remember?” The thick Chinese accent seemed thicker in her incredulity. Sampoorna shot her a Look but she didn’t see it in her periphery. A fundamental flaw in spectacles. Why didn’t she just get her eyes fixed? “What about before you were on the street? And what’s your family name? En, your last name?”

John struggled for a moment, then shook his head. Not even a last name. There was just– nothing. He had to fight to keep his voice even. “… I don’t remember that either. Or anything else.”

There were several seconds of dead silence. He could feel their eyes on him, but he stared at the empty soup bowl instead of Mochou’s rounded face or Sampoorna’s angular features.

“I am sorry to hear that, John.” Sampoorna’s voice said more than her slightly stiff words did, but he didn’t know how to respond or even accept her compassion.

The bed dipped and arms just about wrapped around his shoulders. He froze, alarmed, but he managed to restrain himself from reacting more than that. Mochou had become the only remotely familiar thing over the past half hour or so and she continued to be very small and soft.

She muttered something in Mandarin, which he couldn’t decipher, and then said, “We will help you, John.”

She didn’t let go, uncaring of his nakedness, and he was embarrassed to realise he was starting to melt a little bit into her embrace. Sampoorna had started kneading his knuckles in a way that was easing the tension in his hand (which wasn’t helping) and he sighed softly, selfishly hoping she wouldn’t stop.

“Why not get some more sleep for now?” The soft Indian lilt gently pressed through the haze of sensation. “We will help you piece things together when you are ready.”

Warm and full with the congestion and headache easing, John was sorely tempted to surrender to his body’s demands for rest. Even the unexpected physical contact seemed to be dragging him closer to relaxation now, and Mochou squeezed him firmly in a most pleasing way. Of course, Sampoorna picked that moment to really start work on his extensor tendons, and the combination forced a tiny sound from his throat.

The arms around him squeezed again, more firmly and for longer, and another sigh slipped out. He found himself being guided back to the pillow, while his hand was turned over and warm, small thumbs started smoothing the tension from his interdigital pads.

Sampoorna spoke again, softly, “It is alright, John. You are safe here. You are among friends. You can sleep without fear.” She kept talking, her voice low and soothing, and the weight pressed against him seemed to cause him to sink down further into the (too comfortable) bed.

His eyes had closed. He briefly thought to open them, then idly wondered why. His thoughts drifted, slow and inconsequential.

Everything was  
                             soft

                                 and

                                                 warm

                                           and

                                                                safe

                                                                                       and

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this, I hope you enjoyed it. As you can probably tell, this is only the start. Keep your eyes peeled for the next few stories in this ongoing series! John's got a lot ahead of him.


End file.
